


Whatever the Hell This Is

by dante_alicheery



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Alignment Shift, Allusions to Violence, Book of Vile Darkness, F/F, F/M, Gen, Missing Scenes, PTSD, The Star Song, The Susurrus Society
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-09-06 19:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16838938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dante_alicheery/pseuds/dante_alicheery
Summary: Just bunch of prompts and ficlets for the "Whatever the Hell This Is" family of games, including the wonderful Susurrus Society, the Lunch Bunch, and characters from various one-shots.So basically if you like D&D OCs and don't mind being a bit confused, hail and well-met.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So with Tumblr imploding I just wanted a safe place for all my ficlets and prompts about my D&D group and our OCs. Websites fall, hard-drives fail, and extra backups are never a bad thing. ;)
> 
> And hey, if you like what you see here and want to know more, feel free to drop me a line or a prompt~
> 
> Prompt 1.) “Wait right there, don’t move!“ Whisper/Keithia
> 
> Featuring Whisper, the blue tiefling sea sorceress, and Keithia, the half-elven ranger (who haven't actually done more than flirt, alas, alas).

“Wait, right there. Don’t move,” Whisper hissed, retracting her hand slowly. “Perfect.”

The braid and the snowflowers Whisper had woven in through Keithia's red hair stayed pinned across the crown of her head, even after Keithia moved to check it in the mirror. The little tips of her ears showing now that they were no longer hidden by the strands. “Oh, wow. It looks so nice.

“It does,” Whisper replied, coming around, resting her chin on Thia’s shoulder so she could meet her eyes in the mirror. “Not as good as my mom could have done, but I think I did alright. Especially since I can’t practice on myself.” She tapped one of her curled horns which grew in right above her temples. “Damn horns make it impossible to pin right. But it looks better on you anyway.”

Thia got quiet, pensive, and Whisper frowned. “What did I say now?”

“Nothing, just. You don’t talk about your parents all that often.”

Whisper stepped back and shrugged, busying herself with her bag of holding. “Not much to talk about. I mean, you guys know the story. We got separated when I was about sixteen, and I haven’t seen them or heard from them since.”

“Yeah, but you must miss them.”

Whisper shrugged again. “I mean, I guess. Not as much as you must but…” she turned back just as Thia’s shoulders started to droop. “But come on. It’s Guiding Light and everything, we should be thinking about happy shit, not getting all depressed. Oh, and speaking of.” She produced a box, and let her bag of holding fall to the floor. “I got you a present,” she sang.

“Oh, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” She held it out. “Go ahead, open it.”

Thia took the box, opening it with tentative hands. Inside was a quiver of green dyed leather, embroidered with silver, full of arrows. “Oh, wow.”

“The arrows are enchanted,” Whisper said, grinning broadly. “Not with anything really fancy, but they’ll be a little easier to hit with, do a little more damage. I did them myself. Well, with Matthais’ help.”

The clockwork owl in the corner-- Whisper's familiar and grimoire or something in between-- seemed to preen just a little.

Thia picked the quiver up out of the box, a small smile on her face. Her eyes flicked up to Whisper’s face. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“The look on your face is enough.” 

Thia’s cheeks colored the same red as her hair. 

Whisper grinned. “See? That face is a fucking gift.” She took the quiver gently from Thia’s hands, putting it on the bed, and stepping a little closer. “So, then. We have a whole festival ahead of us… Where should we start the celebration?”

“Well, we’re supposed to go join the others…”

“Or…” Whisper said mischievously, catching Thia’s arm as she turned to leave. “We could hide up here until the temple service Oriana is definitely going to force us to go to is over.”

“Hm… I could be persuaded.”

Whisper’s grin widened. “Then let me persuade you.” And she pulled Thia to her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oriana, the aasimar paladin of Wahreight, meets her best friend Frank, the goliath barbarian, for the first time. 
> 
> Prompt: Something about them.

Oriana always thought of her connection to Wahreight like a stream, her power a small, sunlit reservoir inside of her. Every morning, as she meditated in the sun’s brightening light, she was filled once again with the power He saw fit to grant her.

Now… now dawn couldn’t come soon enough. Her reservoir was empty; she’d just poured the last of it into the body of a young boy, who’d been shot by the bandits attacking his parent’s caravan. Her white light had poured into him from her hands, and the would sealed itself up. Like magic. Like grace.

She gave a soft exhale, feeling utterly depleted, and let herself rest for just a second, before glancing up to the child’s parents with as much of a reassuring smile as she could manage. “There we go. He should be all fixed up now.”

The mother fell to her knees and took him from Oriana’s arms, and the paladin stood, turning to smile at the rest of the caravan. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

The father of the boy stepped up, beaming. “You’ve done too much already Lady—”

“Oriana,” she broke in. “Just Oriana. I’m no knight, or noble, for that matter. Just a humble servant of Wahreight, doing what anyone would have done.”

“Well, thank Wahreight you came along then, we couldn’t have chased those bandits off without you.”

“Nonsense. Your guards were doing quite well. I just sped up the inevitable. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must be getting on.”

She demurred their offer to travel with them, and their offer of dinner, relenting only when they pushed some travel rations on her. She told the she had ones that would serve perfectly well, but they insisted. And she didn't want to be rude. Parted from them, finally blessedly alone, she started back down the road. There was much ground to cover before she reached Vrynn’s cave. 

It was a good ten minutes before she realized she was being followed.

She checked out of the corner of her eye, subtly at first, but the figure didn’t try to hide. Just kept plodding along behind her. Didn’t try to close the gap, or to widen it.

She whirled around to face it and found a… a goliath. A goliath without any markings. It was odd, she’d never seen one like that before, though she supposed she'd never met a lot of Goliath on the whole. “Um. Hello.”

“Hello!” He was a large creature, with easily another two feet on her, broad as an ox. And yet his broad smile and easy manner made it impossible to be afraid of him.

That didn't mean she didn't feel a little nervous. “May I help you?”

“Nope!”

She paused. “Alright. May I ask why you’re following me.”

“Of course you can!”

She paused again. No further information was forthcoming. Her frown grew deeper. “Why are you following me?”

“I’m going to protect you!”

That took her aback. “You’re going to what?” 

It took a full twenty minutes of roundabout questioning and saying exactly what she meant to extract the whole story from him. He thought she was some kind of… demigod. Or something. Because she had healed that boy. And he thought she needed his help. And nothing she said seemed to dissuade him otherwise.

Her head was ringing by the time she decided to drop it, she rubbed her nose, said a small prayer underneath her breath for patience, and then she stopped. And she looked up. Just… looked at him. Really. looked at him. The open countenance. The bright smile. He certainly didn’t seem to be lying to her. And there was something about him she couldn’t quite put her finger on… 

Perhaps he would be a good ally. Perhaps Wahreight had put him in her path, someone she could bring into his Light. Someone to fight at her side, so she wouldn’t be confronting a possibly contentious dragon all by herself

If that was the case… it would be rude and wrong of her not to accept his gift.

“So can I come?” he asked, practically shouting, his eyes shining with hope.

Who was she to crush that light in anyone?

“Alright. Yes, you can come with me. I’m Oriana, by the way.” She held out her hand. Then took his when he just stared at it. And shook it hard enough for both of them.

“I’m Frank!”

“Pleasure to meet you, Frank. I'm just headed to kill a dragon, shall we?”

His smile grew even wider.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Don't look at me like that." Lyra & Arannis.
> 
> A prompt for my now grown up rogue, Lyra, who went from an assassin and con-artist running from the man who murdered her friends, and a demon whose power she accidentally stole, to the captain of an airship and sky pirate. Here, she catches up with an old friend-- the man who she used to sail under, and fight alongside.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Lyra snapped. She was two drinks in—two more than she usually had— face flushed with it. And drink three swirled in the glass between her fingers, rippling slightly as her fingers trembled.

Arannis blinked, disrupting whatever objectionable expression was on his face. “Like what?”

“Like I’m fragile,” she snarled. She placed the glass in front of her and pressed her palm to the table. “Like I’m worth pitying. Like I’m a person.”

The furrow in his brow grew deeper. “But you are a person.”

“No, only pretending. And not very well.” She pushed the glass away.

“You’re dreaming again, aren’t you. And they’re bad.” He went on when she stared at him, her dark eyes slightly out of focus. “I heard you screaming this afternoon.” 

She tipped her head in acknowledgement. 

“What about?”

She thought about trying to lie to him, but he already knew most of it. And yet he still wanted to travel with her. She shook her head. “Oh, same as ever. Dead friends and pissed-off demons, being on the wrong side of the birdcage.”

“…they’ve gotten very bad, then.”

She shrugged noncommittally, and he paused, hesitating over the question before his curiosity had him diving in and asking it anyway. 

“I saw Lucien go towards your room, when…” he cleared his throat, eyes flicking away from her face. “Are you and he…?”

She snorted. She couldn’t help it. “Are you and Harford fucking?”

Arannis blanched at the thought, eyes bugging just a little in disgust, and Lyra laughed one of her harsh crow-bursts of amusement. She patted him on the shoulder, once, twice, and withdrew her gloved hand, still feeling the warmth through the leather. 

“Exactly. He’s my first mate. I love him like my own blood– and I understand now why you’d never let us kill Harford, by the way– but I’d never let him bend me over a table. Not even if he wanted me that way.”

“Ah.” The tips of his ears were turning red, and Lyra grinned, a sly and cutting thing that had nothing to do with mirth. 

“Yeah. Ah.” Lyra reached again for the glass, her hands steady now, and tipped it back, bracing as it burned down her throat. “Now as lovely as all this catching up has been, I do have my shift on deck. Wouldn’t do for the crew to see their captain slacking.” She reached for her hat on the table next to her, and stood, giving Arannis a flourish of a bow before placing it on her head, and stalking out of the room. 

Leaving Arannis with a nearly full bottle of whiskey and an empty glass.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I could kill you right now!”, Lyra

“I could kill you right now,” Lyra said conversationally. The man’s eyes were locked on the flashing of the dagger as she tossed it up and caught it effortlessly with her gloved hand. “It’s what he wants me to do. Wouldn’t even be hard. And no one in this whole house is going to be waking up any time soon—asleep,” she clarified as his eyes widened in horror, “just a little dreamroot. But they won’t be up for quite a few hours.”

“What-what…”

“What do I want?” Lyra asked, and the man nodded so hard she swear she could hear his brains rattle. “Me, I want to go home. Take a bath, maybe. Light some candles. I’ve had a long day, you know.

“But my employer? He wants something else. And while he would prefer I just stab you and rifle through your belongings until I find it, he didn’t precisely order your death? So I’d prefer you continue to breathe. You’ve got a nice family, after all, I’d hate to take their father and husband away from them.”

The man’s breathing quickened, but resolve had hardened behind the mist in his eyes. “And what does he want?”

“Some correspondence of yours. With Admiral Edur Kumar. Apparently you’ve been just the sweetest little pen pals for some time. I don’t need all of it. Just from the, hm. Last three months or so? You’d do that for me wouldn’t you?” She smiled, and from the way his eyes widened just a little, it was not a nice smile.

“And you won’t… you won’t kill me if I do this?” His eyes flicked to the body of his wife, her body limp with dreamless sleep, to the slight rise and fall of her chest.

“If you do this for me, I swear on Hala’s quill and Alma’art’s brush that I will shed no blood under this roof tonight.”

His eyes narrowed, but he stood from the bed and went over—not to his desk, or to the safe in the wall behind the painting of a storm-tossed sea—but to a trunk at the foot of his bed. He pushed it aside and pried up the floorboard, where he’d apparently hidden quite a few such letters. And had them neatly organized.

Lyra grinned to herself. Definitely lovers.

The man stood, a small ribbon-wrapped bundle in his hand. Lyra accepted it with an easy smile, and saluted him with her other hand. She didn’t even bother to check. A man like this wouldn’t sully himself by lying. Well. Lying any more than he already had to the woman sleeping in his bed. 

“Much obliged, General. Now, I’m sure you know what happens if you let it slip about the little black bird that perched on your balcony tonight?”

The man just glared at her.

“That’s the spirit.” And with that Lyra made her way back to the balcony, and disappeared into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Trembling Hands

The first thing Lyra does when she wakes is haul herself to the bathroom. She vomits everything she’s eaten in the past twenty-four hours into the chamber pot and strips herself of her armor and clothing, all of it stiff with dried blood. Her dried blood.

She vomits again, all of it bile that sears her already aching throat.

Then she forces herself into the bath, and scrubs herself clean of the rest of her blood, noting that… she seems fine. There are no new scars on her body, just the old, white ones in their usual places. The one on her stomach when she was stabbed by a guard, the jagged ones on her arms like little feathers where she jumped out a broken window, etc, etc, etc, her whole life mapped out in pain. Except for the dagger that had just opened her up, when…? Long enough ago for her blood to dry.

She tries not to think about what that means, or why she woke up, when she knows the corpses of her friends still lay in the receiving room. Tries not to think about the way her hands tremble.

The next hour or so is a blur. She dries herself off, clothes herself, grabs one of the communal bags of holding and fills it with whatever she might need. Clothes, emergency rations, stuff that might make sleeping rough a little more comfortable. Weapons. Coin. Plenty of coin. She takes nothing from the bodies of her friends but cleans out the vault. It’s not as much as it should have been—Blackthorne must have been in there recently, but he’s not getting the rest.

Then she grabs the oil for the lamps and spreads it on every surface, and sets the hideout ablaze.

It is the best she can do for them, for now. The best she could do to put the souls of her companions to rest.

But she’ll do better, she promises them, in the fifteen seconds she allows herself to watch the flames. She’ll get out of Kamery, survive as best she can, thrive, even and when she’s found the means, she’ll send Blackthorne’s spirit to the hells to keep them company.


	6. Curiosity Kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks ago, the Susurrus Society fought an ancient black dragon in the depths of a tomb in the swamp, and among the hoard was a very particular book. One that Oriana, paladin of Wahreight (god of knowledge and light and mercy), and former librarian, has completely forgotten she slipped into her bag of holding.
> 
> Until now.

The Keep was lonely without everyone around. Oris was off in the town with his… friend. Adoraor in the courtyard with Merlin. The children were doing whatever it was children who didn’t have regimented lives did. And Oriana was alone in the halls, feeling oddly discomfited. 

Every breath was another breath that the people who had been captured by this “Swan” (which was still a stupid name, neither of the men she’d spoken with had heard the least bit of music before falling unconscious), were still in danger. And yet there was nothing she could do to help them, not without a plan.

So, she wandered the large, empty halls of Dawn’s Home, half-regretting having it rebuilt. All this space and no one to fill it with made it ironically more claustrophobic.

Finally, she retired to her room, deciding to at least to unpack. Do something productive with her time. They’d been gone so long it felt like and she still hadn’t gotten around to it, but if this was going to be a home… She dug into her Bag of Holding and placed the confusing griffon statue on the mantle of the fireplace, her arms around the room, within easy reach of her no matter where she was, and began to put the books she was going to keep on the shelves in the sitting room, her favorite novels, the compilations of folktales, the books of scripture, the philosophy books Shade had gotten her last Guiding Light (Wahreight bless, she still needed to do her Guiding Light shopping), and…

The last book she pulled out brought a gasp from her throat.

She’d forgotten about this one, in all the flitting about the world from one place to another. It was a good-sized tome, sturdy brown leather, the pages gilt-edged. With a demon grinning from the cover. They’d taken it from that tomb, hadn’t they? The one underneath the swamp, the one a vicious black dragon had turned into a lair. 

Her fingers ghosted over the cover and she shuddered. It certainly looked like the sort of thing a cruel, ancient black dragon would have in her hoard. A spellbook, perhaps? Or… she felt her heart flitter up to her throat. Perhaps it had been there before the dragon had arrived. And perhaps it had some answers about those odd murals on the walls in the first room.

This was a bad idea. She shouldn’t open it alone… Whisper should be here at the very least. It was magical, a quick Detect Magic proved that. It blazed with magic. And it was very probably evil. Nothing good had a demon’s face on the cover. 

But then she was the best equipped to handle it if it was evil, wasn’t she? Wahreight was on her side. His power coursed through her, as steady as the sun streaming in through the window. With his grace, she could overcome whatever this book had for her. She hoped.

She went to open it, curiosity nipping at her, but it was as if the book was locked, though she could find no catch. Trying to dispel the magic did nothing to lesson the power she felt pouring from it.

This was a bad idea, she told herself. She should put it away until she had back up. Until everyone else was here. Just in case.

She ran her fingers over the tome again, considering it. Watching the way the sun collected on the demonic visage on the cover, on the golden filigree. Definitely evil. The smartest thing to do would have been to lock it in a box and never look at it again.

Just another second. Any moment now, any breath and she’d stand up and shove the book back into the bag of holding where it belonged until they could all examine it together. All of them. 

Any moment now. 

The world shifted. In the light that glinted up from that demon’s grinning maw, was the future. Crystaline. Sublime. Just there. 

She saw herself seated on Arwyl’s throne, a spindly golden crown perched in her grey-streaked hair, wearing a gown of red and gold. A smirk lifted her lips to match the crow’s feet near her golden eyes, as her court bowed before her. Her. Rightful queen, empress of all she surveyed.

At her left stood her son, brilliant and shining through hard training. The years had been good to him. He wore his black armor well, carried the shining greatsword like he’d been born to it. His bearing was noble, powerful, and when he looked down at her he was searching her face for approval, basking in the smile she cast him. He led her armies into battle. He cut down all who dared oppose her. She was so proud. 

At her right, she was surprised to see van Ivan. The Death Knight, no longer so. The black armor remained, and his eyes burned red, but his flesh had been returned to him, pale, yes, but human. Healthy. The smile he sent her was wan, and he nodded his head in a mockery of a bow. He too, was hers. Her instrument, and he worshipped her as she deserved. 

And the foot of the dais, before the crowd of bowing figures both desiring her attention and fearing it all at once, was Frank. Ramrod straight, without armor as always, his gray skin glinting dully in the afternoon light. He who had seen her worth from the first, when she hadn’t realized it herself. He who had followed her wherever she lead. A little dim, perhaps, but loyal, and in return for that unending loyalty she had given him all he had ever wanted. His ears sharpened to points at their ends. 

The emotion in her—pride and righteousness and an inexplicable and all-consuming love— upswept to a crescendo then, as she stood, and the ranks of her court cowered lower. She raised her hand, covered in gold from the signet ring to the bangles studded with garnets, and light filled her hand effortlessly. Power. Not granted to her by supplication every morning, not begged-for scraps. Real power. Her _own_ power.

Power enough to change the world and make it her own.

The vision cut off there, and she was suddenly back in her barely lived in room. Suddenly alone. Cold and bereft. She frowned. 

She didn’t have to stay that way. She could make it come true. It would take time, and cleverness, and a martialing of resources and a gathering of allies. No shortage of play acting to keep the peons unsuspicious. But she could make it come true, if she started now.

And the key was right here in her hand. 

Her fingertips ghosted over the cover, over the ancient leather, that demon’s grinning face. She smiled back. Oh, yes. This was going to be fun.

She opened the book, the cover swinging open easily, revealing a cracked vellum written over in a spidery hand. And she began to read.


End file.
